


I Have Spent All My Years in Believing You

by 27dragons



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-10 02:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19898683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons
Summary: God has decided that, since the Apocalypse failed, the angels and demons should try to get along, instead. The first part of Her plan: a marriage, of course.





	1. Square: Arranged Marriage AU

**Author's Note:**

> This work fills 4 squares of the Ineffable Husbands Bingo; chapter titles indicate the squares.

The bell over the door tinkled merrily, and Aziraphale frowned. He was certain he’d locked that door. “I’m dreadfully sorry, but we’re most definitely closed,” he called.

“Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

_Gabriel_. Eyes narrow and lips pursed, Aziraphale carefully set aside the book he’d been restoring and made his way out into the shopfront. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “I thought we’d agreed you lot would leave me be.”

“Believe me, I’m nearly as happy to be here as you are to see me,” Gabriel said, and his smile did look a bit strained. “I bring tidings.”

Aziraphale raised one eyebrow. “Of great joy, I presume,” he said drily.

Gabriel scowled. _Shut up and die_ , Crowley had repeated, arms flailing in outrage. “The word from On High,” Gabriel said tightly, “is that, having botched the Apocalypse, we’re not going to have a Final War at all. Instead, we’re supposed to _make peace_ with the demons.”

“Make peace?” Aziraphale repeated in surprise. Those _were_ tidings, impressive enough that he couldn’t even maintain his indignation that it was Gabriel delivering them.

He and Crowley were friends, certainly, but Aziraphale had no illusions about how much like other demons Crowley was (not much), and how well they would like this news (not at all). “How are we meant to do that? They’re... Well, they’re _demons_.” And the angelic host had been preparing to fight the demons for millennia. They weren’t likely to appreciate the switch any more than the demons.

“Well, for starters,” Gabriel said, “there will be a marriage. One of ours to one of theirs. To symbolize our _new and lasting bond_.” His lips curled as he spoke, as if the very words tasted foul.

A marriage. _That_ was likely to go over even less well than them all being expected to shake hands and be good sports, like rival football fans at the World Cup. Still, if the representatives were highly-placed enough in their respective hierarchies, the lesser ranks would be more or less compelled to follow.

Well, no wonder Gabriel was in such a state. “Well,” Aziraphale said diplomatically, “it will be difficult at the start, no doubt, but you and Beelzebub seemed to be rather getting on. With time--”

“I would not _dream_ of sullying myself with that... that...” Gabriel stammered, apparently unable to come up with a word that was simultaneously foul enough to encompass Lord Beelzebub’s nature and yet pure enough to fit in the mouth of an angel. “No. No, Her plan -- and Metatron said She was _most specific_ about this point -- is that _you_ shall wed the demon Crowley.”

Aziraphale stared at Gabriel for a long moment, not entirely comprehending. And then it crashed in on him. _He_ was to wed _Crowley_.

_Oh_. Oh, dear.


	2. Square: Spring

Spring was a time for rebirth. Fresh starts and new growth. So it only made sense for them to hold the wedding in spring.

On Earth, of course, the acknowledged neutral ground between Heaven and Hell. And not just _anywhere_ on Earth, but the Garden of Eden. There were thick, impenetrable storms on all sides of the garden, as there had been for some six thousand years, but Earthly storms posed no threat to either celestial or infernal beings.

The angels in attendance were clustered together on one side of the garden, looking slightly unnerved by all the wild, unrestrained growth surrounding them. The demons huddled together on the other side, as far from the angels as they could get, uneasily glancing up at all the unfettered and open sky above them.

So everyone was in just exactly the right sort of mood for a wedding.

Crowley was fairly certain they were all united in one thing, however: they were all more than delighted to be able to write off Aziraphale and Crowley. Once they were wed, as Crowley understood it, they would no longer be angel _or_ demon, but a third sort of thing that hadn’t been named yet.

To be honest, Crowley was pleased enough to be able to write off the demons, as well, though he had his doubts about yet another transformation. The first one had been rather unpleasant.

And he had his doubts about the wedding, too. Not that there was any stopping it, at this point, but every time he’d tried to talk to Aziraphale about it over the last few months, he’d gotten the angel’s brave little half-smile and an airy brush-off. “No, no, it’s no use _now_ , Crowley. We’ll simply have to let the chips fall where they may.”

This certainly wasn’t the first time that a marriage had been performed with one of the participants being... less than wholly enthusiastic. It wasn’t even the first time such a marriage had been part of Her plans.

But it was the first time, as far as Crowley was aware, that the marriage was expected to last _literally forever_. At least humans stuck in a loveless union could divorce, or at the very least look forward to death. No such luck for Crowley and Aziraphale. You couldn’t just _annul_ a marriage ordained by God Herself, and neither one of them were susceptible to anything as simple as death.

Glumly, Crowley wondered whether marriage to him would be enough to drive Aziraphale into hellfire. If hellfire would even affect whatever it was they were becoming.

Beelzebub smirked at him. “You’re wishing you hadn’t played so fast and loose with the rules now,” they taunted, flies buzzing smugly.

Crowley ignored them. He’d have done it all over again, given the choice. He could no more have avoided being drawn to Aziraphale than he could have taken back his halo.

He just wished Aziraphale didn’t have to suffer for it. Well. He’d do whatever he could to make things easier on the angel.

In a glen at the center of the garden, under a bower of bright spring flowers, a beam of sunlight cut through the surrounding trees, the signal that it was time to begin.

Crowley glanced back over his shoulder, looking up into the sky, past the garden’s wall, into the raging storm. “For better or for worse,” he muttered under his breath, then took up his bouquet of apple blossoms and stepped forward, into the light.


	3. Square: Top!Crowley

The ceremony hadn’t taken very long, and unlike mortal weddings, the witnesses didn’t linger to offer their congratulations, or to celebrate. Aziraphale was just as relieved, really. Any well-wishes would have felt disingenuous at best.

Aziraphale and Crowley were left standing at the center of the Garden of Eden, hands still clasped and wrapped in a lovely (and pointedly symbolic) cord of braided white and black silk, watching the leaves above them rustling in the last of the wind caused by the beat of departing wings.

“Well, that’s that, then,” Crowley said. He started unwinding the cord with delicate reverence, despite his careless tone. “I admit, I thought something showy would happen. Likes to make a statement, She does. But I don’t feel any different.”

Nor did Aziraphale. He looked slowly around the little glen, and his gaze snagged on a cozy-looking little cottage that he was almost certain hadn’t been there before the ceremony. “Ah,” he said, feeling heat gathering under the collar of his coat, at the back of his neck. “Well. I believe, traditionally, that a marriage isn’t quite _official_ until it’s been... ah. You know. Consummated.”

Crowley’s head snapped around, quick as a striking snake. “What? Wh--” He spotted the cottage, then. “Oh.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I know you didn’t want this--”

“I what?” Aziraphale drew back to stare at his -- good Lord, his _husband_ \-- in disbelief. “Why would you think that?”

“Angel,” Crowley said gently, “you don’t have to pretend, not with me. You’ve been stiff-upper-lipping at me for _months_ , I know you’re disappointed. It’s all right; I wouldn’t want to marry me, either.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed. “I’m not disappointed we’re married.”

“You’re not.” It came out with the flat inflection of disbelief, and if Crowley had been wearing his sunglasses, he would’ve been peering over the rims of them at Aziraphale.

“Of course not,” Aziraphale said. The flush that had never quite faded from his neck began to creep up onto his cheeks. “I’ve loved you for years, you ridiculous creature. I was only disappointed because the whole thing was a political show, for _their_ benefit, not our own.”

Crowley stepped closer, and as they’d already been standing quite close, this put them nose-to-nose. Crowley’s golden eyes searched Aziraphale’s face minutely. “You,” he breathed, “you love me?”

“I should think that was obvious,” Aziraphale said, a little stiffly. “You needn’t attempt to return the sentiment. I’m well aware how your sort feel about that sort of thing.”

“I don’t have a _sort_ ,” Crowley said, “any more than you do. I’ve loved you for _centuries_. And you call _me_ ridiculous?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, and that warm flush practically exploded, filling his entire body. “Oh. Well, then. Perhaps this next bit--” He nodded toward the little cottage. “--might be just for us, and not for anyone else, then?”

Crowley glanced toward the cottage, and then looked back at Aziraphale. “Are you certain--”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said firmly, “take me to bed now.”

Crowley’s mouth opened, then closed. “Right.” He took Aziraphale’s hand as they turned toward the cottage, tentative, almost shyly. Aziraphale gave him an encouraging smile and squeezed his hand, and that seemed to give Crowley some confidence. He straightened his shoulders and opened the door for them.

There wasn’t much to the cottage interior. The door opened onto a tiny sitting area with plush chairs angled to catch the light coming through the window and a narrow but well-stocked bookshelf; next to that was a kitchenette with an electric kettle and several tea tins arranged along the counter with a pair of mugs, and a cabinet which held an assortment of biscuits and crackers.

The rest of the space was occupied -- perhaps even dominated -- by the large four-poster bed.

On top of the neatly-made bed was an enormous gift basket, filled with fruit and sweets. The note tied to the handle said simply, “Congratulations and best wishes.” Aziraphale didn’t recognize the hand, and when he glanced at Crowley inquiringly, the demon simply shook his head.

“Well, then,” Aziraphale said briskly, and moved the basket to the little bedside table.

Crowley caught his hand again, just as he was turning back. “Angel. Have you done this before?” Crowley nodded toward the bed as if the question might have been at all unclear.

“No, of course not,” Aziraphale said, and couldn’t quite meet Crowley’s eyes. “Have you?”

“A few times,” Crowley said. “It’s not actually the most efficient means of temptation, but... yeah, I know what I’m about.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Very well, then. I expect you’d better top then, to start.”

Sudden silence made him look up. Crowley was staring in shock.

“I’m inexperienced, not illiterate,” Aziraphale said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not some--” He couldn’t continue, then, because Crowley was kissing him.

They’d kissed before, at the end of the ceremony. That had been a perfunctory, dutiful little thing, just a quick peck, and somewhat spoiled by the rustle of disgust and dismay that had rippled through their gathered witnesses.

This wasn’t anything like that kiss. This was gentle, reverent, and somehow also hungry. Crowley’s hands were cupping his face and Crowley’s mouth was soft and mobile, teasing at Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale gasped in surprise and Crowley’s long, sinuous tongue was in his mouth, flickering, tasting. Aziraphale found himself clutching at Crowley’s jacket, clinging like a drowning man might cling to a life preserver.

He was left gasping when Crowley finally drew back a little, just enough for them to breathe again. “All right?”

Aziraphale nodded, still trying to catch his breath. “I didn’t know it would be like... that.” And then, because Crowley’s brow had furrowed in concern, he added, “I like it.”

Crowley relaxed a little, then, and smiled. His knuckles brushed down Aziraphale’s cheek tenderly. “That’s good, angel,” he murmured. “You just put yourself in my hands and let me take care of you, hm?”

And that, of course, was what Crowley had been doing for centuries, now, if not longer. Taking care of Aziraphale.

There were no other hands that he’d rather be in.


	4. Square: Approval of God

Crowley, when he bothered to sleep at all, generally slept in a loose-limbed sprawl, draping himself over as much of the bed as he could reach. And when he was done sleeping, he woke instantly, sitting up in the very instant his eyes opened.

That morning, he came awake slowly, dimly aware that he was warm and comfortable, his body curled protectively around something warm and precious. He didn’t want to move, really. There was nowhere else that he wanted to be, nowhere he could possibly be happier or safer.

That was an odd thought to have. He hadn’t felt _safe_ for well more than six thousand years, since long before the existence of the Earth had made a “year” a meaningful term. And while he’d had the occasional flash of satisfaction or amusement or delight in that time, real _happiness_ hadn’t been in the cards for him, either. He was one of the Fallen, after all. A demon.

Except he _was_ happy, and he _did_ feel safe, and it was that oddity which finally, reluctantly, prized open his eyelids.

Aziraphale’s eyes were already open, a tiny, bemused smile tugging at his lips. When Crowley’s eyes blinked open, that smile blossomed, and Crowley felt a burst of fondness -- no, of _love_.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale said softly.

“So it is,” Crowley agreed. “Have you been lying there watching me all night, like some sort of creep?”

“Beast,” Aziraphale complained, though the effect was rather spoiled by the smile he couldn’t seem to suppress entirely. “No. I’ve only been awake for a few moments.” His cheeks pinked a little. It was a good look on him. “You rather wore me out, it seems.”

“Likewise,” Crowley admitted, though he couldn’t help a smug little wriggle at the memory, feeling Aziraphale’s skin sliding against his own where they were tangled and pressed together, still. “There’s more where that came from, any time you like, angel.”

A frown flickered across Aziraphale’s brow, there and then gone again. “I don’t think I’m an angel anymore,” he said softly.

Safe and happy, Crowley recalled, and prodded at his own internal senses somewhat gingerly. Nothing. No inner font of hellfire. No quiet, hot connection to Hell. “Ah,” he said. “No, I seem to be something... _other_ , myself.” He hesitated. Not being an angel anymore had to be significantly more painful than no longer belonging to the damned. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Aziraphale said, almost fierce. “I haven’t really been one of them for...” He trailed off, eyes focusing on something behind Crowley.

Crowley unwound himself just enough to twist around and look. (It didn’t take much; his spine was considerably more flexible than the average human’s.) He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. The cottage looked the same as it had the night before: chairs, kitchenette -- he _still_ wondered where the electric was coming from -- enormous fruit basket sitting untouched on the little table.

Wait.

He unwound himself even further and sat up to look at it more closely. “That wasn’t there last night, was it?”

On the very top of the pile of fruit was an apple. Of sorts. It was _shaped_ like an apple, at any rate, but its skin was a shimmering opalescent pearl color. Carefully, Crowley picked it up. It felt smooth, and the faint smell of it was... well, _divine_. “D’you think it’s a temptation?” he wondered.

Aziraphale’s hands cupped Crowley’s, steadying them while he studied the fruit. “No,” he said after a moment. “I think it’s a gift.” He smiled at Crowley, little wrinkles creasing the sides of his eyes. “I think She approves.”

Crowley looked at the apple again, and then at Aziraphale. “Shall we have a bite, then, angel?”

“I’m not an angel anymore,” Aziraphale reminded him.

“You’ll always be _my_ angel,” Crowley said, and leaned over the apple to kiss him. “Shall we, then?”

Aziraphale took the apple out of Crowley’s hand and set it gently back where it had been, on top of the pile of fruit. “I think it will wait an hour or two,” he said, and drew Crowley to him for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Queen song (what else?) “Somebody to Love”


End file.
